


Moment 4 Life

by Pearly_Pornography



Series: Pearly's Preklok Fics [24]
Category: Metalocalypse
Genre: Gen, Knives, References to prostitution and underage sex, Shoplifting, Theft, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-07
Updated: 2017-10-07
Packaged: 2019-01-08 22:53:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12263724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pearly_Pornography/pseuds/Pearly_Pornography
Summary: I wish that I could have this moment for life, for life, for life.-In which William steals.





	Moment 4 Life

In the convenience store, William had his fists in his pockets. His chest was tight. He needed food. He needed a place to stay.

His stomach growled and his mouth tasted sour. Most of all, he needed  _money._ That was something that had never come easy to him. Grandma lived off of welfare checks and money taken from uncle Angus. People considered him rich because he had two TVs, but really, he found his personal television out by the dump. It still worked, too. But he was penniless. His wallet was empty, and now that he'd crossed the Florida-Georgia line, there was no turning back.

The bag of chips on the shelf looked enticing. His stomach hurt. He wanted to cry, he was  _hungry_. He ran off and pressed his hands against the ice cream freezer. He was starving for an ice cream sandwich. At Vostakova's back home he'd get an ice cream sandwich once a day. 

He scraped his nails against the plastic. His mouth watered.

It would fit just right in his pocket.

And he said he wouldn't, he said he wouldn't steal or lie or cheat. But he'd already sucked trucker dick on the wide, open road, and now he was  _dirty_ and he could never be the same. And he stared. The chocolate outer shell. The soft vanilla ice cream inside. The way they melded together, melting in his mouth. He was starving. He was dying. 

He ran through the front door of the store, and into the street, across the street, as far as he could go.

It tasted so good.

Tears ran down his face, and his guts went tight. He spat out the first bit, and dry heaved. Then he took another bite. This time it went down. His eyes were wet with tears and he felt like he was on fire, he  _missed_ this. Not the abuse at home, of course, but the ability to get food whenever he wanted. He'd only ever stolen from his grandmother, to buy these sweet treats. It tasted good. It felt good. Why did everything that felt good have to be so  _wrong_?

He needed more money.

This couldn't go on.

He reached into his vest, and found his trusty knife. All the cars going by, all the people, all of them, or most of them, had  _money_. And he'd seen a few movies in his lifetime. What were knives for? Surely not for holding. For threatening. For hurting.

His heart raced wildly. This knife had met his own skin. It could meet others' skin, too.

He had to do it. For himself. For survival.

-

In his backpack, he only had a spare jacket and a hat. Sadly, he had to cut holes in his favorite beanie. He was going to give it use. He didn't want to go to jail, or worse, get sent back to his house with a pile of grandma's skid-marked underwear to bring to the laundromat. 

"Hey lady!"

He waved over to a woman. With kids, too. (Somehow, they were black, which he didn't think much about.) Probably a gold-digging trophy wife. Her wallet must've been loaded. She turned, with her long blonde hair swooping over her shoulder. She looked pretty young, barely older than him. Plastic surgery, probably.

She didn't respond, and instead continued walking.

He marched over, clutching his knife in his hand, and he grabbed her collar. She was taller than him, too. "Gimme yer money, lady!"

She screamed. The children were screaming, too. He breathed loudly through his teeth. "Empty yer fuckin' wallet! Gimme yer fuckin' money!" She was reaching into her purse. He pressed the knife to her throat. He could almost taste it.

The last thing he heard was a spraying sound.

At least, until he was on the sidewalk. His eyes were on fire. He howled, his face was burning. This bitch had pepper sprayed him. He rolled his hat up, covering his eyes, screaming and screaming and hoping the pain would go away. He didn't want this, he just wanted a pizza, or something. And this stupid  _rich bitch_ fucking maced him like he was a damn... criminal.

But he was.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

"Listen here, you little puke." Her voice was laced with venom. "My name isn't  _lady_ , it's  _Rebecca_ , and I don't get paid enough to babysit. I'm not going to share with gap-toothed homeless fuckwits like you."

"I'm  _schorry_ ," He was gritting his teeth. "make it schtop!"

"Get a job." Another spraying sound. He'd been hit with this shit before, grandma carried it all the time, but never twice in a row. His fingers scratched into his face. "I'd call the cops, but I don't think they let 12-year-olds into jail!" He could hear her walking away, somewhere among his screams, the little kids mumbling and muttering. He could just barely see, crawling off of the concrete and into a little patch of grass.

He curled up, wiping his decimated old beanie on his face.

This wouldn't have happened if he wasn't such a screw-up.

And now he was back on the road, with no money. He sighed. He might have to lodge with a stranger tonight, and those strangers only ever wanted one thing. Sex. He wasn't in the mood. And he really didn't want to get beaten to death after getting pepper spray on someone's dick. But he'd have to take a chance.

Rain began to fall, and he threw on his leather jacket, trudging towards soft motel lights in the distance.


End file.
